


Legilimens (Smut Version)

by spencer_wood



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Draco Malfoy, Dirty Talk, Draco teaches Harry Occlumency, EWE, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Minor Praise Kink, Occlumency, Pining, Top Harry, minor hurt/comfort, mutual feelings, takes place directly after the war ends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24001276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spencer_wood/pseuds/spencer_wood
Summary: The war has ended. Draco Malfoy lives with his mother in the desolate Malfoy Manor.So when Harry Potter shows up on his doorstep asking him to teach Occlumency, he is surprised. But he agrees.And both get more than they bargained for.-Note that this is the smut version of the fic, there is a fluff version on my dashboard as well.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 9
Kudos: 417





	Legilimens (Smut Version)

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't decide whether to write fluff or smut, so I thought, why not both?  
> Fluff version available on my dashboard. Hope you enjoy!

There was a knock on the door. 

Narcissa’s eyes, previously focused on her book, shot up to meet her son’s. Draco thought he saw a flash of hope flicker in her eyes, but it died quickly as they turned to ash once again. He made a gesture for her to stay, and got up to walk to the door. 

He walked in long, quick strides, the hard heel of his shoe clicking on the ground with every step, the sound echoing through the empty hallways of the cold and desolate manor. From his back pocket he grabbed his wand- just in case. Draco couldn’t pretend to be a victim of the war, but its aftermath hadn’t been easy on what was left of his family. Once the proudest pureblood supremacists, the Malfoys were reduced to a whimsical duo of mother and son, their only objective survival. 

In an effort to make themselves as small as possible, they had not left the safety of the manor in weeks. 

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he opened the door. Certainly not his father, that much was sure. Draco knew he wouldn’t be returning from Azkaban in a considerable amount of years, if he even survived it at all. He knew his mother hoped he would simply show up on their doorstep, even if she knew it was practically impossible.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

He’d once taken such pride in being the son of Lucius Malfoy, the heir to the Malfoy estate, and the purest of wizards in his mind. But as the years went by the façade of honour and greatness crumbled quickly; his father’s eyes sank impossibly far into his head, surrounded by dark blue rings which stood out especially against his sickly pale skin. For the better part of the last three years, he’d looked awful. The more Draco watched his father’s fruitless attempts at pleasing the Dark Lord, the more he realised that Voldemort’s faith in his father had disappeared. 

In Draco’s fifth year at Hogwarts he’d realised the restoration of the Malfoy name was up to him. 

In Draco’s sixth year he was determined to save it, determined to make his parents proud regardless of the increasingly large doubt building up within him.

In Draco’s seventh year he knew he was on the wrong side, and he found he could not switch. 

It ate him up on the inside, wanting so badly to be faithful to his name and his parents while knowing it wasn’t right. The only thing he could do was feign uncertainty of Potter’s identity when he was right there, right where Draco was stood in that moment, not two months later even though it felt like a lifetime. Because looking into Potter’s eyes had solidified what he’d been trying to suppress; that he didn’t want him to die. Not only that, he cared. He cared about Harry Potter and he wanted him to defeat the Dark Lord.

In return Potter had spoken for Narcissa and her son at their trial.

Yet Draco was still surprised when he opened the door to be faced with none other than Potter himself.

He lowered his wand in surprise.

“Potter”, he said, because he couldn’t say anything else. What was there to say?

A few years ago there had been a lot. When their rivalry bore no actual weight, before it was burdened with the lives of dozens. Draco had never understood why Potter would choose the poor Weasley boy over him, over power and pride. After all, Draco had been brought up to believe that those were the most important things in life and that they came with blood status. So he’d spent his childhood resenting Potter for rejecting his hand on his first day at Hogwarts, resenting him for rejecting the values he thought to be the only ones that mattered. He’d spent his childhood settling for negative attention from Potter, figuring it would be the only way he’d get it at all. 

His obsession had grown- and been reciprocated- over the years and as he came to grow up way too quickly he learned of more nuanced feelings. He learned about crushes and found that the reason he never understood Crabbe’s interest in fit girls was because he didn’t fancy girls. And he’d come to understand that perhaps Goyle’s descriptions of his feelings regarding his female crush could be applicable to boys. And then he’d finally come to understand the reason behind his craving for Potter’s attention. And then he promptly pushed the thought aside because it made him feel nauseous.

But that had been years ago. The war had divided them cruelly and Draco had stopped hoping to ever get on better terms with Potter even before he’d realised his feelings. That he was on his doorstep now threw a wrench in the works. 

“Draco”, Potter said, equally cautiously. 

“Why are you here”, Draco stated more than asked, being far too surprised to even comment on Potter’s use of his first name. He tried not to stare at the man before him. He wore a clean, grey t-shirt that revealed the several bandages on his arms. Although he didn’t look as awfully malnourished, Potter didn’t look well. Draco felt stupid for thinking all would be well for Potter and his friends just because their side had won. A wave of empathy overcame him and it felt strange to stand across from him once again, yet neither insulting the other. They were both too tired.

“I wanted to return your wand”, Potter finally answered, holding out Draco’s wand. 

Draco looked at his wand in Potter’s hand, almost incredulous. Potter cleared his throat lightly and extended his arm further.

“It’s not cursed or anything. I just wanted to return it and-”

“No I didn’t think it was going to be cursed I just-”

“-thank you for what you did”, Potter finished his sentence at the same time as Draco interrupted him.

Draco looked at him, now actually incredulous. 

“In the Room of Requirement”, Potter began, and the horrid memories of the fire flashed in Draco’s mind, “I asked why you didn’t identify me. I’ve come to realise that, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. But I want to thank you, regardless of the reason you did it for”.

Potter paused. And Draco took the wand. He almost wanted to shut the door, to say _you’re welcome_ and leave it at that, to shut Potter out of his house and mind for eternity. But he couldn’t quite do it. Too many things were left unsaid and so he looked him in the eye and replied.

“I did it because I had realised I was on the wrong side. And I cared, Potter, I still do. About everything. And I’m s-”

The last part got stuck in his throat and Draco choked a little bit, collecting himself, willing the tears in his eyes back. He didn’t have to get this bloody emotional over one sentence and he sure as hell didn’t want to pour out his heart and soul to Potter, who had only come to return his wand because it was the right thing to do.

“I’m sorry”, Draco finished, and Potter’s eyes flit back and forth between his own. They studied each other for a second, perhaps because they needed the familiarity.

“Can I come in?”

Draco was taken aback a bit and about to ask why when it probably occurred to Potter that he should explain himself.

“I need to talk to your mother. I need to thank her as well”, he said, as if that explained anything. 

Figuring he wasn’t in any position to be denying the saviour of the wizarding world anything, Draco motioned for him to come in.

They walked back to the living room, where Narcissa sat on the black armchair still as ever; she stood up immediately upon recognising who was in Draco’s company.

“Mr Potter”, she said, just as surprised as Draco had been, her voice rough and raspy as though she had not spoken in weeks.

“Harry, please”, Potter said and motioned for her to stay seated, “may I sit down?”

Narcissa nodded, and Draco too sat down in the third armchair of the room. It was the only furniture in the room; in fact, it was almost the only furniture in the entire manor. 

Draco and Narcissa had thrown out everything but their beds, wardrobes, and the three armchairs of the living room, along with two chairs and a table to eat on in that same room. It had brought back too many memories, too many awful flashbacks every time they saw the large conference table on which Professor Burbage had been violently tortured and murdered, every time they saw the bed Voldemort had slept in, the cabinets that reminded them of the Vanishing cabinet. Everything was just wrong and they tried helplessly to erase every last memory of the war by burning down a pyre of everything they didn’t absolutely need.

“Mrs Malfoy”, Potter began, and Narcissa corrected him to use her first name with a small, wry smile. 

“Narcissa”, he said, speaking softly, and Draco leaned slightly forwards involuntarily, “I want to thank you for saving my life”.

Draco’s eyes widened and he made brief eye contact with his mother before she lowered her eyes. A million questions raced through his mind. He’d never told his mother that he knew, that he knew as surely as he knew his own name, that it had indeed been Potter they had captured. He had been too afraid of Narcissa’s response, too afraid that she still believed in the Dark Lord, too afraid she would reject him and he’d lose the only thing he had left in his life. It occurred to him that Narcissa had kept the same deed- saving Potter’s life- a secret from him for the same reason.

“You undoubtedly ensured my victory in the battle against Voldemort”, Potter continued, and both Narcissa and Draco winced at the mention of His name, “and I had to come here in person to let you know that I truly appreciate that”.

Narcissa formed the beginning of a sentence, but burst into tears before anything coherent came out. She rushed out of the room, ashamed, overwhelmed. 

“I’m sorry”, Potter said immediately, turning to Draco, “I didn’t mean to-”

“You don’t need to apologise. She’s like this most of the time”.

“I should go”.

Draco simply nodded, and led him back to the door. Without another word, Potter left.

He had no reason to come back. His business there was done. 

In the two weeks following Potter’s visit Draco and Narcissa had told each other the truth, the truth about how each of them had concealed Potter, and it felt good to be honest. Their lives continued with little change. 

Until Harry Potter showed up on Draco’s doorstep for the second time. 

“Potter”, Draco said with a curt nod, no less surprised at Potter’s second visit than he was at his first.

“Can you teach me Occlumency?”

Now that was unexpected. Draco raised an eyebrow, waiting for Potter to explain himself. 

So he did. Potter explained that Voldemort’s ability to look into his mind had allowed him to be corrupted to such an extent that it had cost the life of Sirius Black. He explained that they had spent seventh year searching for Horcruxes, that Voldemort had found out because he could look into his mind. He explained that Snape had tried to teach him, that he had failed, but if there ever was to be another wizard like Voldemort, Harry wasn’t going to let anyone else look into his mind.

“I don’t know anyone nearly as skilled with it as you are”, Harry finished. 

“I- alright”, Draco agreed, somewhat bewildered, motioning for him to come in once more.

Potter made his way towards the living room once more, Draco grabbing his arm before he got there.

They looked each other into the eye, Draco waiting just a fraction of a second too long to say something.

“Mother is sleeping”, he explained, “come with me”. 

So Potter followed him into the only other room with a place to sit down, Draco’s bedroom.

…

He hadn’t lied to him. Harry really did think that Draco was the most skilled person he knew, by far. But he also could have asked Hermione. Or taken a proper course.

Truth be told, Harry did not want anyone seeing the horrors he had seen. Anyone who was in the war knew it was awful, to say the least, but there was something about walking into the Forbidden Forest, something about looking around at the dimly lit trees, thinking it was the last thing he would ever see. It was a horror he couldn’t subject Hermione to, and a horror that was too personal for him to ever trust an instructor with. 

His relationship with Draco had been complicated, to say the least. Draco. That’s who he was. When the war had ended Harry had decided that Draco Malfoy was just Draco to him. His childhood rival. Not a cruel Death Eater, not someone who could murder his own headmaster, murder his friends or his godfather. Draco Malfoy became Draco when he lowered his wand on the Astronomy tower in sixth year, when he refused to identify Harry at Malfoy Manor in seventh. And now they were here, in Draco’s bedroom, in a surreal situation he could not have conjured in his strangest fever dreams. 

But somehow it felt right, them there, together, practising magic. It seemed to slowly bridge over the abyss of war that had separated them. It seemed to slowly mend some wounds of the war that weren’t visible.

Harry looked around the room. Draco’s four poster bed was in the centre of his room, headboard bordering the wall, and his wardrobe beside it. Other than that, there was nothing but a trunk that was open on the floor, half under his bed. Harry could make out several pictures of Draco and his friends- friends he had lost in the war- as well as his Slytherin robe and a few textbooks. It looked as if he had just come home from the last day of school, as if the war had never happened and he had simply left all his furniture at Hogwarts for some reason. Maybe it was intentional. 

“You need to concentrate”, Draco began, speaking slowly and purposefully.

Harry sat down on the bed, watching Draco in front of him, beginning to explain.

“Not only do you need to concentrate, you need to build a wall around your mind, a wall so strong that nothing can penetrate it, metaphorically speaking of course. Do you follow?”

Harry nodded.

“This wall, it has to be strengthened by will, not fear. You must _want_ protection, not _need_ it. This distinguishes those who can resist the _Legilimens_ spell from those who can’t.”

Draco’s voice was soft and calm. It occured to Harry that this was the first time he’d ever heard Draco speak without an edge in his voice. It was surprisingly pleasant, listening to him talk.

“I’m going to use the spell on you now, Potter”, Draco warned him.

And so he raised his wand and whispered, “ _Legilimens_ ”.

It was already going a lot better than it had gone with Snape trying to teach Harry. But he still struggled and after a second or two of holding on he felt his mind pouring out as memories flashed in front of him.

Walking up to face Lord Voldemort, hearing his heartbeat drum in his ears, the trees around him keeping him cold and scared. 

Sirius Black falling through the veil, feeling his body jerk as he wanted to lunge forwards, follow him into the unknown, because a world without his godfather wasn’t one Harry wanted to live in. 

Arriving at an altered King’s Cross station, knowing he was dead. Seeing the bloodied, deformed creature on the ground-

“ _Enough_ ”, Harry pleaded, feeling completely drained within a matter of seconds. He was certain he would have collapsed had he not been sitting down in the first place. He expected Draco to yell, to tell him to focus, tell him that he wasn’t good enough, but Draco spoke as softly as he had before.

“It’s hard the first few times, isn’t it?”

He cocked his head sideways, studying Harry, who was catching his breath. Harry prayed he wouldn’t mention what he saw, and he didn’t.

“You’re afraid”, he simply continued, “of someone like-”

Hesitation.

“Voldemort”, Harry supplemented, still catching his breath, “say his name”, he added more sternly.

Their eyes met, and Harry’s fiery green determination was met with Draco’s glistening grey contemplation. Harry searched Draco’s eyes for doubt, fear perhaps, something that was making him hold back.

 _He can’t hurt you anymore_ , Harry wanted to say to him.

“Someone like Voldemort”, Draco said so quietly it was almost a whisper, “and you mustn’t let that fear guide you”. 

Draco sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose; Harry had seen him do it before, in the Great Hall at breakfast before an exam. He knew all his habits, how he behaved when he was angry, when he was frustrated, when he was upset. Harry knew all of Draco’s _isms_ and he was sure Draco knew his. 

Draco walked over, sitting down beside Harry on the bed.

“Potter”, he began, not quite managing eye contact, “I was afraid too, of _him_ looking into my mind, finding doubt. I was afraid for my life, for the lives of my family”.

He sighed.

“Point is, Potter, I know you can do this, even if it takes work. I’ll help you get there. It’s the least I can do after-”

“You owe me nothing”, Harry interrupted him sternly, “Let’s try again”. 

Draco got up, resuming his initial position. Harry tried to prepare himself. He felt better.

 _I will not let anyone into my mind_ , he told himself, over and over until it became a mantra he couldn’t get out of his head. Even when Draco whispered _Legilimens_ again and he only held out for a few moments before the memories came flooding back; even when he called it a day and thanked Draco, when he apparated back to Grimmauld Place, when he went to bed that night. 

_I will not let anyone into my mind._

By the time he knocked on Draco’s door again, the statement was settled deep in his mind, and he began to understand what Draco had meant when he said to build an impenetrable wall of determination, not fear.

They were in Draco’s bedroom again, Harry not really making any improvement. His frustration grew until he snapped.

“I’m never going to master this”, he huffed, frustrated with himself, “I told myself I wasn’t going to let anyone in. I’m not afraid. So what am I doing wrong?”

Draco sighed, sitting down beside him once more.

“You’re not protecting yourself correctly. You need to get a feel for the resistance you need to build up. Why don’t you-”

And he paused, considering what he was about to offer.

“Why don’t you try the spell on me, so you can feel the resistance I’m talking about. Okay?”

And so he did, and as Harry tried to infiltrate Draco’s mind he felt the resistance, he felt the wall Draco had been talking about.

When he was done Draco looked as if nothing had happened; it was remarkable, Harry thought, thoroughly admiring how skilled Draco was, how he managed to look suave and unbothered despite fighting off an aggressive spell.

“Potter”, Draco began, then hesitated again. 

“Potter, if you’d like I will let you in”, he finally offered. 

Harry wasn’t too sure he needed it to understand how Occlumency worked, but something within him made him agree. Maybe it was a need to give Draco reassurance, maybe he wanted to show him that he cared, too. 

And so Harry drew his wand once more and spoke the incantation.

He saw the Manor, the great conference table, Professor Burbage in the centre, lifeless, a single tear trickling down her cold cheek, then Nagini’s jaw unhinging to devour her, with sharp, unforgiving teeth.

The table and Death Eaters dissolved and he saw himself, his face disfigured from Hermione’s stinging jinx, a flash and he was gone, it was only Lucius left in the room. He was shouting and Harry could only make out single words- failure, disappointment, shame- but he was furious, and when he raised his wand and muttered _Crucio_ his vision went black.

Rematerialising in front of him was the Room of Requirement, fire chasing up a pile of furniture, flames licking at tables and chairs, devouring everything in its heat. Then he saw Crabbe, clinging onto a chair desperately, losing his grip and falling into the fiendfyre. The last thing he saw was the fear in his eyes, the terrible, awful fear that Harry knew all too well, the type that only came from knowing you were about to die.

And then the scene disappeared and Harry was back at Hogwarts, an army of Death Eaters standing before him, Voldemort leading them to face the fighters on Hogwarts’ side- on his side- and he realised Draco was amongst them. Voldemort spoke, and it was just as Harry had remembered: arrogant, his voice drenched in the illusion of victory.

“Harry Potter is dead!”

A flash and he repeated it.

“Harry Potter is dead!”

Again.

“Harry Potter is dead!”

And again.

“Harry Potter is dead!”

Like the broken record of a waking nightmare the memory replayed itself over and over until Harry was back in Draco’s room again, finally. He was breathing heavily, the sound of Voldemort’s shout a terrible tinnitus echoing in his head. Draco was breathing just as hard, his skin damp from a sheen of sweat. His eyes were closed and he was trembling slightly. Instinctively, Harry extended his hand to Draco’s shoulder, steadying him with his touch. Draco opened his eyes, and a single tear rolled from his left eye to his jaw, dropping onto his bedsheet. 

Then, as if overcome with a sudden need for self protection, he turned away abruptly and walked to the other side of the room, staring out of his window, his arms crossed in front of him. 

Harry thought to follow him for a second, to try and convince him he could be open about how he had felt, to offer to talk it all out. But he realised that perhaps enough boundaries set up for self-preservation had been crossed for one day.

So he said, “I should go”. 

No reply from Draco.

“Draco”, Harry said again, trying to at least get his attention from afar. Draco turned his head slightly, his ear facing Harry. 

His cheek glistened in the light- it was wet- and it made Harry’s heart cramp just a little.

“Thank you. For everything”. And because he knew Draco wouldn’t speak, he did as he said and left the manor.

…

Exactly one week passed. Harry spent almost every moment of it thinking of Draco and the things that had happened.

He was quieter around Ron and Hermione, although he brushed it off as fatigue when asked about it. It wasn’t like he could casually explain he had been round his former rival’s place a few times even though it wasn’t entirely necessary and he was thinking about him more than in sixth year.

 _And you like him_ , a tiny, complacent voice in Harry’s mind added.

It was something he couldn’t ignore anymore. Not now that the waves of war had crashed over them, and all that remained was the rhythmic ebb and flow of life's ups and downs. He sought out Draco’s attention because he wanted to feel noticed by him, he wanted to spend time with him. 

Harry enjoyed watching Draco, he admired how he held himself- poised and elegant- and he loved it even more when he could make the affectation crumble. It was perhaps why he’d always let himself be provoked by him, why he’d retorted and dialled up the argument, however mundane it was. He didn’t particularly care about the matter, or even care about getting Draco to be angry. Harry simply wanted to see Draco without his mask, without the fake extravagance and pureblood bullshit. 

And he wanted to see Draco laugh. He wanted to see him giggle so hard he would hold his sides and couldn’t breathe. He wanted to see Draco be fascinated, be excited by new things he discovered and old things he was passionate about. He wanted to see Draco feel, see him as he truly was. 

It was why he’d looked into his mind. 

And his chest clenched together uncomfortably when he lay awake at night, thinking about what had happened the second day at the manor. He thought about Draco opening up for that brief moment, allowing Harry to see the torment he was facing. He thought about Draco facing away from him, refusing to look at him, too overcome by the feeling of having made himself vulnerable.

So Harry got up and retrieved the nearest piece of parchment and a quill. Sitting down at his desk, the parchment faintly illuminated only by the _Lumos_ charm from his wand, he began to write.

_Draco,_

_Can we talk?_

_About last week, I mean._

Harry paused, not quite sure how to continue. He wanted to be honest without coming across as condescending, or- god forbid- like he was trying to therapise him.

_I want to thank you for helping me._

_I am glad that I came to you. You understand what happened better than anyone else does._

_I’m sorry if showing me what you did crossed a line for you._

_For what it’s worth, I think I finally get it now. Occlumency, I mean._

_HJP._

He scribbled his signature and sent the letter off to Malfoy Manor before going to bed for another fruitless attempt at sleep. 

The reply came roughly a day later. 

It was about two in the morning when his owl returned, a new piece of parchment attached. Harry’s heart skipped a beat, and he scolded himself for it. He wasn’t a bloody first year receiving their first love letter.

_Potter._

_Your handwriting is dreadful. I’m surprised you even passed O.W.L.s with those scribbles and inkblots you call words. I was in dire need of a thesaurus to decipher your letter._

Harry scoffed. Now this was the Draco he knew; yet he couldn’t help a small smile creeping up on his face.

_Nonetheless, I do appreciate it._

_No need to thank me for the help. In your words, ‘you owe me nothing’._

_Not unlike my mother, I’ve been a little ~~emot~~ irritable lately. _

_I do think we both needed that, though. After thorough consideration I have come to the conclusion that I took the correct path in revealing those memories for you. Even if it crossed a line, it was right for both of us._

_Salazar forbid you let that get to your head._

He snorted.

_If you so wish, I am not opposed to the disclosure of more recollections of that nature._

_DM._

He shook his head at Draco’s last words, smiling. 

So he wrote back right away.

_Sorry, I don’t speak eloquent prat, but if you were suggesting we meet again, might I treat you to dinner at mine? 8 o’clock next Monday?_

_HJP._

He sent the letter off, and surely enough even before he went to bed the following night, his owl returned with a reply.

_8 o’clock it shall be._

_DM._

A strange feeling settled in the pit of his stomach; it was a weird concoction of anticipation, excitement, and nervousness. He’d invited Draco over on an impulse, simply because he’d felt the need to keep the conversation going, not wanting it- and by extension their correspondence and interaction- to fade away.

...

Monday rolled around far too quickly and Harry frantically stirred around ingredients in what felt like twenty different pots and pans (though really, it was three, and all he was making was pasta because it was physically impossible to fuck up). He cursed as the doorbell rang.

“Be there in a second!” he yelled, turning down the heat on his stove, wiping his messy hands on the apron he’d borrowed from Molly- “for no particular reason, Molly, I just don’t want to have to wash my clothes every time I cook”. 

He opened the door and was faced with Draco. Contrary to his expectations, he wasn’t overdressed at all, wearing an emerald green turtleneck and simple black trousers.

“What, were you expecting a tux? I’m sorry to disappoint”, Draco quipped, as if he had read Harry’s mind. 

“Here”, he continued, disregarding Harry’s lack of response, and handed him a bottle of wine that looked like it had cost more than every drink Harry had ever had combined. 

“Er, thanks”, he finally managed to stammer, gesturing for Draco to follow him into the dining room. 

“Do I smell Italian? Romantic”, Draco remarked, smirking. It wasn’t a smirk sourced in arrogance. It was a simple tease.

 _A flirt_ , Harry almost let himself think. 

Harry’s apartment was small- quaint, as he liked to say. The walls were decorated with pictures of his friends that waved and smiled at him, but other than that, everything was muggle. The dining room was not much larger than the kitchen, the table just big enough to fit two people sitting at it. Accordingly, he owned exactly two chairs, two pairs of cutlery, two of everything. 

_And no, Hermione, it most certainly was not because he was hoping for occasional company, thankyouverymuch. He simply didn’t want to wash the dishes every day._

Draco looked around the room, examining everything. Harry felt awkward for a minute, but soon realised it wasn’t scrutiny.

“I love it”, Draco said quietly, as if more to himself than to Harry. 

“I can’t live at Grimmauld Place”, Harry replied, thankful for the dim lighting because he blushed a little at Draco’s compliment. At Draco’s quizzical look, he explained how Grimmauld Place had belonged to Sirius, how it was dark and murky and carried the heavy weight of two wars. 

“Maybe I’ll turn it into a place for students to stay in during summer if they’re not welcome at home”, he mused, “I think Sirius would have liked that”. They both smiled, neither sure of how to continue until-

“ _Shit_ , the food”, Harry cursed, sprinting back to the kitchen to salvage their meal.

He came back balancing two plates of pasta and two wine glasses and with a crooked smile.

“I hope you like slightly-overdone asparagus”.

They ate mostly in comfortable silence, making occasional small talk. And then Draco would make a remark, too obvious to be a come-on, but said with too much of a blush to be a joke. One time he’d even had the audacity to _wink_ at Harry (who nearly choked on the pasta in his mouth). It drove Harry wild, the usual confidence he knew in Draco paired with this newfound, far more amiable side of him. 

Draco also did not complain; in fact, when they were done, he’d mentioned how much he’d liked the sauce. 

They’d since moved to the much more comfortable sofa in front of the fireplace, both mostly staring into the flames. Harry told Draco about how Sirius Black had once managed to communicate with him through the flames of the Gryffindor common room’s fireplace. 

“I’m sorry your godfather died, Harry”, Draco said, and for the first time in a while they made eye contact. Harry thanked him and they talked, conversation beginning to flow steadily; for a brief moment he thought back on Slughorn’s hourglass and how the sand would be in stasis right then. 

They talked about the war, about the things and people they had lost.

They talked about the divides in wizarding ideologies and beliefs, about how deeply they were rooted in wizard culture. 

And then Draco chuckled softly.

“Ironic, isn’t it, Potter”, he said, a red flush from the alcohol settled high on his cheekbones, “how we’re sitting here now. After all these years. I don’t even feel the urge to hex your face off.”

“We were just the same, if you think about it”, Harry reflected, smiling at Draco’s last remark, “both fighting for our parents, what we believed to be the right side. I think that’s why we’re both here right now, don’t you? Because we understand each other.”

“Is that why you invited me?”

“Is that why you came?”

Silence once more. 

“I came to reap what I sowed, Potter”, Draco finally said, his voice back to his haughty, usual tone, “since you so boldly stated you, and I quote you on this, _finally get it now_ ”. 

It took Harry just a few seconds too long to grasp what Draco was referring to. But when he did, he rose to the challenge. 

“Want to put me to the test, do you Draco?” he taunted, eyes narrowing.

“I could hardly call it a job well done if I haven’t actually seen you do it, Potter”, Draco retorted, making sure to emphasise Harry’s surname. 

Previously sitting on opposite ends of the sofa, they faced each other properly, now only a foot or so apart from each other. 

“Go on then”, Harry said, opening his arms to gesture at himself. 

Draco took out his wand, pointing it at the man in front of him. Then he lowered it slightly and asked, “are you sure?”

Harry nodded.

“ _Legilimens_ ”.

_I will not let anyone into my mind._

And it worked. Harry felt the wall around him, he saw the room around him. His memories refused to reveal themselves, refused to manifest. He saw Draco in front of him, the look of equal parts shock and joy on his face. And he smiled. And the wall remained. 

When Draco lowered his wand, Harry was overcome with a feeling of euphoria. 

“I did it”. Harry grinned.

“You did it!” Draco gasped.

“You did it”, he repeated again, almost yelling, “oh, Harry, you’re incredible!”

As he spoke he reached out to cup Harry’s face with his hands, his eyes wide in amazement and joy. Harry saw his pupils dilate as they stared at each other once more. Draco, now blushing furiously, quickly withdrew his hands.

Harry suddenly realised he’d felt more euphoric at Draco’s warm, soft hands on his face than he did making progress in Occlumency.

He suddenly realised he enjoyed talking to Draco about everything, not just the war.

He suddenly realised he didn’t want him to go, he didn’t want the night to end.

He was overcome with a sudden understanding of his feelings and it felt like a tidal wave of emotion crashing over him, enveloping him in the warm, salty water, pulling him forwards against Draco, their lips crashing together.

It was warm and soft and wonderful and Draco gasped at their initial touch, his hands rapidly finding their way back to Harry’s face again. 

Harry, who pulled away slightly, waiting for Draco to yell at him, to call him disgusting and weird, to get up and leave. 

Instead, Draco reconnected their lips.

Never in his life had Harry felt the way he did as they moved their lips together. 

It felt like coming home.

“Oh, Draco”, he sighed as they broke apart to breathe.

“Harry”, Draco echoed, breathless. 

Harry searched Draco’s eyes for regret, but found none. 

Draco kissed like a Slytherin, with ambition and control, trying to push into Harry so he could be on top of him. 

But Harry, Harry kissed like a Gryffindor, he was wild and reckless, like he couldn’t get enough of Draco. He also wasn’t stupid, and so saw right through Draco’s attempt to get on top of him. It only motivated him to place his hands on Draco’s chest and push him back into the sofa, straddling him. Draco’s eyes went wide, pupils blown. 

“Damnit Potter”, he cursed, although it came across as more of a moan.

Harry grinned, cocking his head sideways. For a moment the only sound in the room was the soft crackle of the fireplace and their heavy breathing. 

“Don’t act like you don’t like this better”, he replied, and he wasn’t quite sure where the confidence came from. Just to prove his point, he shifted in Draco’s lap. Draco drew in a sharp breath in response. 

“Yes”, he conceded, and he sounded winded already, “Potter”. He moaned softly as he pushed his hips up in a search for friction. 

Harry ground his hips down more purposefully, starting a slow pace of moving their hardening cocks against each other, and he leaned down to nip at Draco’s earlobe.

“Does that feel good?” he asked. He didn’t need an answer, but it sent a spark of electricity straight to his heart and cock when he heard Draco whine a small _yes_ in response. Harry grinned against his neck and bit down playfully, licking the spot afterwards.

Decorating Draco’s neck with wonderful purple splotches, he didn’t stop the movement of his hips.

When he was satisfied with his work he reconnected their lips, and their kiss became more forceful, more heated, and Draco’s hands found themselves at Harry’s side, pulling his body flush against his own. 

They were grinding against each other in earnest, and Harry was determined not to initiate the next step until Draco asked for it. 

“Harry”, he whined, “please”. 

“Tell me what you want”, he replied, revering the way he was making Draco come apart, his usually impassive and urbane demeanour rapidly diminishing under Harry’s touch. 

But for the first time, his confidence seemed to fade along with his composure, his face rapidly reddening. 

He stuttered a bit, avoiding eye contact. So Harry took Draco’s chin and turned his face back towards him. They surveyed each other, and Harry wasn’t surprised that he didn’t find a difference between the way Draco looked at him now and the way he used to look at him. Sure, his eyes weren’t narrowed in anger, but the tenacity with which he stared was the same. There was just as much tension as there always had been, though perhaps its nature had shifted a little. 

“Anything, Draco”, he reassured him, although he strongly suspected he knew what Draco wanted. 

“Do you want me to fuck you, hm?” he taunted, “is that why you’re all shy and flustered? Want my cock inside you, do you, Draco?”

Draco whined again as Harry ground down his hips in emphasis, and nodded furiously.

“Please”, he repeated again.

“Say it”, Harry urged him.

“I want you to fuck me”, Draco finally said, quietly, but with undeniable certainty. 

Their movements grew frantic as they began stripping each other.

Draco sat up- now face-to-face with Harry- to remove his turtleneck, and it mussed up his hair in the process. Harry, who was already shirtless, stared. 

He was gorgeous like this, his blush extending to his (now mostly purple) neck, his hair slightly damp and dishevelled. Harry roamed his hands over his torso; it was pale and lean like the rest of him, and he felt the remnants of his _Sectumsempra_ , now thin, white lines barely distinguishable from the rest of his skin. His nipples were hardened and pink, and Draco made a delightful sound when he brushed his thumb over one of them. 

Draco was still grinding down on him, the need becoming almost unbearable for both of them. Harry reached for his own wand from his back pocket, vanishing their trousers and pants with a swish and flick. 

“Eager, are we?” Draco teased, and when Harry took his leaking cock in his hand in response, he moaned and his head dropped back.

“Like you’re one to talk”. 

He started pumping Draco’s cock in earnest, watching how it jumped and twitched in arousal at his every touch. Draco’s hips were still gyrating as he emitted small sounds with every stroke. 

Harry was sure he could come like this, just from watching Draco be completely debauched, just from touching him, but that would be a mission for another day. 

He reached out his hand and from his bedroom he heard a few things rattle and crash- he couldn’t care less. A bottle of lube came flying towards him right into his hand.

“Wandless and wordless”, Draco panted, “Bastard.”

Harry laughed, pulling Draco in for another kiss. For a second all the built up tension seemed to melt away as their lips met once again, and it was sweet, but it all came rushing back in an instant when Draco shifted once again and their cocks brushed together. 

“Want you so much”, Harry mumbled against his lips as he covered his fingers generously. 

He circled one finger at Draco’s hole gingerly, pushing it in slowly, and Draco pushed his hips back onto it.

“Another”, he said, and gasped as Harry did so. 

Harry nipped at Draco’s earlobe as he began fucking him with his fingers.

“You’re doing so well, Draco”, Harry murmured, his voice having dropped what felt like an entire octave to Draco. It was raspy and spoke in dulcet tones.

“ _Fuck_ , Potter”, he whined, “you’ve got quite a- ah- mouth on you”.

Harry grinned, the bastard. 

“Want me to add another, Draco? Think you’re ready for it?”

Draco moaned, trying to choose between the dichotomous pleasures of pushing back onto Harry’s fingers and pushing his hips forwards into Harry’s to gain friction on his cock. 

“Potter-”

“Harry. Say my name.”

“ _Harry_ , fuck, you’re going to drive me insane”.

So Harry added another finger and fucked him harder. His own neglected cock twitched, but he disregarded it in favour of focusing on Draco. He brought his other hand back to Draco’s nipple, rubbing his thumb over them, trying to angle his fingers to find-

“ _Fuck!_ ” Draco cried, “right there, fuck, right there”. 

Harry smirked, and then removed his fingers.

“ _Harry_ ”, Draco whined, and he looked on the edge of both orgasm and anger outburst. And then Harry decided he enjoyed riling Draco up like this infinitely more than picking an argument with him. 

Nevertheless, he himself would not be able to hold out much longer, so he gave in and lined up his cock with Draco’s hole, pushing in in one go. 

“Oh”, Draco exhaled, like all the air was pushed out of his lungs. He breathed heavily, his mouth hanging open as he began rocking his hips back and forth. 

Harry was stuck in a trance for a few seconds, watching Draco’s movements, hypnotised. Then he snapped back to reality as he realised he was about to come, so he held onto Draco’s back and manoeuvred them so Draco was on his back again, Harry above him. 

Steadily he pulled out almost all the way before slamming back into Draco, picking up an almost brutal pace.

Draco nearly _squealed_ , and a steady stream of curses and moans spilled from his mouth. His hands flew up as he gripped the sofa’s armrest, his back arching as Harry thrust into him.

Harry gripped Draco’s hips so hard he absentmindedly realised would be bruises the next day. It only made him grip harder, wanting to mark Draco as his. He angled his hips and hit Draco’s prostate with every relentless thrust of his hips. 

“Fuck, Harry, Harry, Harry”, Draco chanted, his knuckles turning white and a drop of sweat running down his temple. 

He leaned down to plant a messy kiss on Draco’s open mouth.

“You gonna come soon?” he mumbled against his lips, “I’m so close. Fuck, Draco, you’re so tight. You have no idea what you do to me. Been thinking about this for so long, your perfect hole clenched tight around my hard cock, fucking you until you have none of your smart words left, until you can’t remember your own name.”

With a cry, Draco came, long ropes of come covering their stomachs. His abdomen clenched along with his hole as he rode out his orgasm. Along with the look of pure bliss, of complete euphoria, on Draco’s face, it was enough to push Harry over the edge himself.

He moaned Draco’s name as he came deep inside him before collapsing onto him.

“Fuck”, Draco said, having returned to reality. His voice wasn’t on edge like it had been only moments prior, but the crisp coolness had not returned either. His voice was warm and soft like honey, and Harry revelled in the decadence of listening to it. 

“Fuck”, he agreed, and cast a cleaning charm as Draco pulled the blanket from the sofa’s backrest over them. 

Harry tried to fight against his eyes fluttering shut, but as he looked up at Draco, who was already drifting off himself, he decided that an overdue talk about how they felt could wait a little longer. 

So he smiled, and drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are much appreciated <3


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